Clouds In My Coffee (5 page)

That is history now though. Things have changed. Maybe he knows.

“I explained why.”

“Yeah, no doubt. But I think the situation is different now, wouldn’t you agree?”

Now I am genuinely confused. “Not sure what you mean.”

“I just assumed you and Erik had split. I mean, he’s been hanging with Angie—the chick I broke up with a few weeks back. Maybe he’s just two-timing, huh?”

I’m numb at the moment.

Erik—and
Angie Linton
?

How have I missed that?

Well, it’s not like school is in session, I guess. And Angie doesn’t come to the summer functions since not making the squad In fact, Kim said that she’d seen her just the other day and remarked that she had lost her ‘preppy look.’

I haven’t talked to Erik since the night we broke up. I washed his Foghat tee shirt, gently folding it and placing it neatly inside the storm door of his mobile home while he was gone the following evening. I hated giving it up, but it was his and he cherished his stuff.

The next morning, I found it ripped to shreds on our front stoop where it was evidently tossed when I went out to get the morning paper. How could Erik have moved on so quickly? I mean, of course I assumed that he would start seeing someone...
eventually
, but damn that was fast. I felt resentment wash over me and then I remembered that it had been my idea for us to split and see other people.

“So, anyway Cece,” Marshall is saying, “I thought maybe you’d reconsider going out with me? Looks like Erik’s not letting any grass grow under his feet since you guys split.”

I look at Marshall and his words sink in. “Oh, well, I dunno. I’m starting my part-time job at the Dairy Queen this weekend. I’ll have to check my work schedule. We’ll see.”

He gives me a bright smile. “How about if I give you a call on Sunday and see when you’re free for the upcoming week?”

“Sure,” I say, nodding, still feeling weird about what he just told me about Erik and Angie. I can’t have it both ways. But that doesn’t mean it doesn’t hurt. In fact, it hurts more than I ever could’ve imagined.

“Well, hey then, I’ll call you Sunday?”

I glance up from where I’ve been washing the same spot on the car for the last several minutes. “Sounds cool,” I reply, trying to sound unaffected by what he’d told me. “Later.”

Once Kim drops me off, telling me that it’s time I move on after I shared the news with her about Erik, I go to my room and change.

Mom’s at work and I glance out the front window and see that Erik’s car is gone.

Probably with
Angie.

I lay across my bed and pull the white, stuffed poodle with the red silk ribbon around its neck that Erik had given me one Christmas against my chest, wrapping my arms tightly around it.

He gave it to me because underneath the wide red ribbon collar there is a zipper that allows me to hide my diary away and out of the reach of my nosey mother—or anyone else that might be inclined to snoop into the private thoughts of a teenage girl.

I have kept a diary since I was thirteen years old when I got my first kiss from him. My mom discovered that months later and questioned me about it. I had been mortified at her breech of my privacy and made a big show of tossing it into the trashcan.

I’d told Erik about it and, that Christmas, he had purchased ‘Pierre’ for me. It came with a diary and he told me that I shouldn’t stop writing down my innermost thoughts for anyone.

I unzip it now and pull the diary out. I haven’t made an entry in months. Maybe it’s time I rekindle that relationship with Dear Diary. Sometimes, I find it to be therapeutic when I’m overcome with emotions that are foreign to me. Now is one of those times.

I grab a pen and note the date at the top of the page.

June 6, 1973

Dear Diary,

It’s been awhile, but I need to catch you up. I feel as if I’ve lost my best friend and I guess I have. Erik and I broke up and it was my idea, but now I feel lost. I found out today that he’s already seeing someone else. Angie Linton!!! Maybe he never loved me at all if he’s over it already!

I might go out with Marshall Rydell. He’s asked me a couple of times. I don’t know. He’s supposed to call on Sunday, so we’ll see. I know Mom loves the idea—I’m not sure I do though. It seems too soon.

I put my diary back inside Pierre and zip him up. Then I stay in bed and cry until I finally fall asleep, clutching the dog in my arms for comfort.

It’s July 4th weekend and my third date with Marshall. We are doubling with Kim and Keith. They’re in the backseat of Marshall’s Pontiac GTO making out like crazy while it’s intermission between movies at the Stardust Drive-In movie theatre outside of town.

“Do you want me to grab some more popcorn?” Marshall offers, trying to distract me from the sounds coming from the back seat. They have a blanket covering their bodies, but it sure as hell isn’t soundproof!

“Sure,” I say, relieved to have him somewhere else because what they are doing is not only embarrassing me, but making me nervous that it might be putting ideas into
his
head. We haven’t made out yet, just kissed goodnight up to this point.

“You guys need anything?” he calls back to the occupants behind us.

“Grab a condom from the Men’s Room,” Keith calls out from the back seat. I hear the sound of Kim smacking him, angrily telling him to shut up because that is
not
going to happen tonight. Keith simply laughs and the kissing and mauling continues.

“Be back in a flash,” Marshall says, grinning as the interior light comes on in the car when he opens his door.

“Hey,” Kim yells. “Some privacy, please?”

“Get back under your blanket,” Marshall says with a laugh.

A few more minutes of rustling around in the back seat, along with the sound of wet kissing...and then out of the blue:

“Damn, baby, I think you need some crotch shampoo.”

“Fuck you, Keith!” Kim shouts, and I feel her foot as it kicks the back of my seat as she struggles to come out from underneath the blanket. “Get the fuck off of me!”

“Hey, I’m not trying to be an ass, but maybe you need to think about shaving there, you know? Make it nice and smooth like your legs are, huh? Might make me want to eat at the ‘Y’ more often.”

“Don’t be gross!” she hollers at him, clearly indignant with his suggestion. “My mom says only sluts and prostitutes shave their crotches! Which one are you labeling me, Keith?”

“Damn, I’m sorry I mentioned it. I mean, you shave your legs and pits, I guess it just makes sense is all.”

“Hah! Not in
my
lifetime it doesn’t!”

Their argument is interrupted when Marshall returns with a large bucket of buttered popcorn. “What the hell? I can hear you two arguing from three rows back.”

I have to stifle a giggle because the whole topic of conversation is absurd and I am glad that Marshall didn’t hear it from the beginning.

The good news is that the car parked next to us with a pack of screaming kids left during their argument. It is short-lived, however, when the sound of another car pulling into the same spot causes me to turn and look out my window.

Fuck!

I recognize the sound of the engine before I even see the car. It’s Erik and I can see Angie in the passenger seat.

“Fuck that,” Marshall grumbles recognizing them at the same time. “Just our fucking luck. I swear that fucking bitch has radar on me.”

Kim leans up and looks out the window. “Ah, this should be fun,” she chirps, enjoying the situation.

I turn around abruptly, shooting her a dirty look. As I turn back around, I catch a glimpse of Erik leaning over in his seat towards Angie, helping her get the speaker situated on the window of the passenger side door. His arm brushes against her ample chest, and her girly giggle floats out from their car.

“Can we go?” I ask. “I’ve got curfew.”

“It’s only ten forty-five,” Kim pipes up from the back seat. “There’s still the second feature.”

I glance over at Marshall and don’t miss the twitch of his jaw. He’s bothered by Erik and Angie and, for the first time, I wonder if, in fact, he really was the one to break up with her as he’s maintained. My mind is working frantically trying to piece together a timeline of events for two people I hardly knew a few months ago.

“Put the speaker back on the pole Keith,” he instructs, starting up the engine and revving it. “Scoot over here, Cece,” he instructs, “right now.”

His voice has a sudden hard edge to it and his tone is one that I’ve not heard before. I do as he instructs and he immediately puts his arm around my shoulders, pulling me even closer to him as Keith puts the speaker on the post.

Marshall puts the car in gear and peels out of our space, the wheels of his GTO spinning and sending a spray of gravel in its wake, some of it hitting the side of Erik’s Mustang.

Behind us, Kim and Keith are laughing their asses off looking back as the dust and dirt settle behind us.

“Why did you do that?” I ask, frowning up at Marshall.

“Because I fuckin’ can,” he answers, not taking his eyes from the road.

After dropping Kim and Keith off at Kim’s house, Marshall is quiet as he takes me home.

“Wanna hang out tomorrow?” he asks, brusquely breaking the silence.

“Can’t. I’m working second shift at the DQ.”

“Why in the fuck are you even working there?” he asks, his voice still sounding pissed for some reason.

“Because I wasn’t born into wealth,” I snap.

I feel him tense up and wonder what’s in store, but his voice is soft and gentle when he speaks.

“Hey—I’m sorry. I was out of line. It’s just that I don’t get to see you as much as I’d like to and before you know it, summer’s gonna be over.” He squeezes my shoulder with his hand.

“I know,” I reply, “But maybe that’s a good thing, you know? I won’t be working once school starts so we’ll get to see each other more, right?”

“Yeah, I guess that’s true. He kisses the top of my head gently and once again returns to the sweet guy that is Marshall. I understand how he might have felt seeing Angie with Erik, because I know how much it bothered me seeing Erik with someone else. It hurt. It hurt like hell.

When he pulls up in front of my place, he turns off the engine and kills the lights, turning and pulling me even closer. We kiss and, as we continue, the kisses become deeper. We are full-fledged making out and it feels strange to me because I’m used to the way Erik and I kiss. I’m trying to get used to the difference in Marshall’s technique and meet his rhythm, and then I feel his fingers working to unhook my bra from the back.

“No Marshall,” I say, pushing back. “I gotta get inside. Mom’s going to be home from work in a little bit,” I lie, because I’m not ready to have this discussion with him. He is probably used to getting what he wants from chicks, when he wants it, but he has no clue that
this
chick is a virgin and plans on staying that way for the time being.

“Ah, come on, Cece. How about I come in and just keep you company until your mom gets home?” He’s giving me a cute, sexy hangdog look, but I’m not falling for it.

“Sorry, not tonight,” I reply, scooting away from him. Part of me wonders whether his interest is totally in trying to get into my pants or if part of him wants to see when Erik gets home. I’m sure he knows by now that Erik lives cattycorner from me. It’s not a big town by any means.

“I’ll call you Sunday,” he calls after me as I head up the walk towards the front stoop. He fires up the engine and takes off, not bothering to make sure that I get inside safely.

July 4, 1973

Dear Diary,

Tonight I saw Erik at the drive-in with Angie. It hurt like hell.

It’s the week before school starts. I’ve saved several hundred dollars from my job and Kim and I have a date to go school clothes shopping. She doesn’t have to worry about where her school clothing budget comes from—she’s an only child and kinda spoiled.

I’ve been blowing Marshall off since the night of the drive-in. First off, I wasn’t comfortable with that anger bit and secondly, I know soon or later, he’s going to be pressuring me for sex.

Every time he’s called, I’ve made excuses from taking on someone else’s work shift¸ to being grounded, to having a summer cold. I’ve not heard from him in a few weeks and, in a way, I’m relieved.

Lonely as hell. But relieved.

Erik turned eighteen two weeks ago and it took all I had not to acknowledge his birthday, but I just wasn’t sure how receptive he’d be after ripping up his own shirt that I returned.

I’m dressed in shorts and a tee, waiting for Kim to pull up for our shopping date and I look out the front window. I immediately wish I hadn’t.

Angie is over at Erik’s. Both of them are washing his Mustang, and I notice they’ve got matching yellow tee shirts on. Erik sneaks up behind her, where she’s practically sprawled over the hood of the car, calls out her name, and, when she turns around to face him, he douses her shirt with water from the hose.

She squeals in mock disgust, and immediately pulls the wet tee away from her skin, giving him quite a view. Not that he probably hasn’t already seen them, touched them and tasted them.

It’s then that I see what’s written on the tee shirt in bold, red lettering:

1973 Battle of the Bands, Salt Lake City, Utah

1st Place

I’m overcome with jealousy. It should be
me
wearing that tee shirt,
me
helping him wash his car and
me
doing whatever else she’s been doing with him since we split, though my mind doesn’t want to go there.

I’m pulled from my thoughts when Kim pulls up, blasting her horn.

I pull myself together, put on a happy face and bounce out the front door all smiles, making sure not to look across the road, even though I can feel two pairs of eyes on me. Kim’s radio is blasting our favorite FM rock station and a Stone’s tune, Jumpin’ Jack Flash.

But it’s all right now, in fact it’s a gas!

And I realize I’m sick of the misery I’m feeling that’s self-inflicted. Erik’s moved on, and it’s about time that I do the same. I promise myself to call Marshall this afternoon. It’s time I come out to play with the others.